


El Paso

by raindrop13



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, PWP, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raindrop13/pseuds/raindrop13
Summary: In the name of plausible deniability, they hadn’t planned it. They both knew where the evening would end before they had even found the motel. But it wasn’t until Lorna was washing the shampoo out of her hair that Marcos, contemplating their aurora borealis dilemma, realized the bathroom was probably more soundproof and lightproof than the thin walls and cheap blinds in the bedroom.





	El Paso

Lorna chokes on a moan, biting her lip hard enough to hurt as Marcos inches closer to where she wants him. A few minutes ago, she had been absentmindedly worried about the spider hanging out above the toilet, but now the only thoughts that register at all are his fingers, his mouth, the stubble of his cheek.

It isn’t strictly advisable that they be doing this – they had found the seediest motel in El Paso, the one least likely to report anything suspicious, but they should still be following protocol, keeping watch, staying silent and leaving early. On the other hand, this is the first time in months they’re alone together outside the omnipotent HQ – an opportunity too rare and too valuable to pass up.

In the name of plausible deniability, they hadn’t planned it. They both knew where the evening would end before they had even found the motel. But it wasn’t until Lorna was washing the shampoo out of her hair that Marcos, contemplating their aurora borealis dilemma, realized the bathroom was probably more soundproof and lightproof than the thin walls and cheap blinds in the bedroom. It wasn’t until he had stepped out of his muddy jeans that he thought of an excuse, and it wasn’t until he found her waiting behind the shower curtain that he understood how absolutely unnecessary the excuse was.

Now, with green and purple lights exploding around them, he can’t help but feel deeply relieved they’ve ended up in here, because as cramped and dingy as the bathroom is, it’s also safe. He doesn’t have to worry about neighbors or motel managers or passerby – all he has to focus on is the taste of her skin as he trails his tongue down her stomach, the tug of her fingers in his hair, the sound of her trying not to make a sound. Pressing a kiss to the juncture of her leg and her thigh, he chuckles, looking up at her through the steam. “You’re not even this quiet when you’re asleep,” he says, waiting for her retort.

She glares down at him, pushing green hair from her face, and prepares to issue a sharp response – she is _so easy_ to bait. Because he wasn’t even being sneaky – _of course_ the exact moment she opens her mouth, his fingers find their way to the slippery clutch of her cunt and his tongue finds its way to her clit, and the strangled cry that finds its way out of her throat would never have been so satisfying if she’d tried to muffle it.

“You _bastard_ ,” she grinds out, one hand knotting in his hair as the other scrapes uselessly against the porcelain, grappling for leverage that doesn’t exist, “You absolute son of a _bitch_.”

He chuckles against her, his throat rumbling in a way that makes her knees want to give out, and hooks his fingers into her. He knows, from the way she is grabbing at his shoulder, that she wants him in her – all of him, right now, immediately. But this is the first time in months – _months_ – that he has her away from super-hearing mutants and psychic mutants and mutants who see through walls. He hooks her leg over his shoulder and flattens his tongue deliberately, sweeps over her cunt intentionally, because he’s going to savor this. She is so impatient, but she never seems to complain about this tendency of his to draw it out. At least, not when it’s over.

“Fuck, baby,” she pants, feeling the knot between her hips winding tighter, “Fuck, baby, please.” This far into the game, there is no point in feigning irritation at his victorious smirk, or trying to prevent her back from arching. She had tried, early in their relationship, to keep her walls up, maintain an air of easy superiority, retain her dignity. But he had seen her ugly cry, had watched her shatter a coffee mug in her fist for no good reason except rage, had caught her watching those unlikely animal friendship videos on YouTube – there was no disguise she could don that he wouldn’t see through immediately. So she doesn’t bother to consider the rocking of her hips or the noise she’s making or how her face twists when she comes. She just comes, her nails raking through his hair and down his neck and back, repeating his name like a mantra, like her own private secret code.

Like _their_ own secret code, because he responds by repeating her name back, lips pressed against her hip and her breast and her neck as he holds her up, her knees still weak, her toes still curled against the tile. She opens her eyes into his and the smile is easy, natural, automatic – the kind of smile she can’t suppress even as he’s kissing her, running his hands up her sides, smiling too. “Asshole,” she mutters, “We’re supposed to be quiet.”

“We’re always supposed to be quiet,” he reminds her, wrapping tan, muscled arms around her pale, tiny frame. “At least here we don’t have to look Thunderbird in the eye tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, well, remember that when I’m returning the favor,” she says, pivoting them around and dropping to the ground in one surprisingly elegant movement, leaving him off-balance against the wall, his arms suddenly empty and her mouth suddenly _not_.

The noise he makes has nothing to do with her words, and she clearly knows it. But he’s already closer than he’d like to be, and she is too good at this for him to last long. “Lorna, stop.”

She pouts as she pulls her mouth away, one hand still steadying herself on his thigh. “That’s hardly fair.”

“I don’t want to come yet,” he pants, pulling her up flush against him, “I want to get one more out of you.”

She rolls her eyes, but the irritation is gone. “One isn’t enough?” His uneven breathing hitches when her fingers dance down his hips. “Well, come on then.” He kisses her as much with his tongue and teeth as with his lips, his grip firm against her hips as he spins her around, and normally she would be unable to focus on anything else, except – “ _Fuck_ ,” she yelps, jumping away from the new section of porcelain, “that is _freezing_.”

She’s pressed against him in a way that could be erotic, _should_ be, but isn’t, because he’s laughing. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. It’s the way she’s glaring at the wall, as if the tiles have just insulted her. And then of course she’s glaring at him, for laughing. “I’m sorry,” he chuckles, and then once more, with as straight a face as he can manage, “I’m sorry.” She’s still glaring, but she’s also still clutching his shoulder, so he’s not in _that_ much trouble. As an apology, the glow of his hands joins the aurora borealis lights dancing around them, one against the wall and one down her back. “Better?” She leans back against the wall more tentatively, this time, and pulls him to her only once she’s decided it’s comfortable.

“Better,” she mumbles against his jaw, one hand still clutching his arm like a shield, the other trailing downward to wrap around his dick. She smiles against his ear when he crumbles into her, thrusting into her hand and burrowing into her neck. “Like that?” He growls something low and possibly Spanish, kissing her collarbone and then biting her pulse point, knowing how much it turns her on, fully expecting the whimper of desire and the way her hand clutches involuntarily against his bicep.

He replaces her hand, guides himself to her entrance and bites again as he fills her, licking over the light red marks his teeth have left as she adjusts. “You okay?” he asks, as always, steadying himself against the wall with one arm. When her only response is a high-pitched groan he pulls away to look at her. “You good, mi alma?”

“Yes, Marcos, I’m fucking _great_ ,” she says, digging her nails into his lower back, “You shouldn’t bite my neck if you want me to have coherent thoughts right after.”

“Sorry, princesa, my bad,” he says, and then he bites her neck again and drives back into her with no hesitation, earning a gasping scream and claw marks down his back.

“Cabrón,” she grits out, one of the only slang words she knows, the others all being curse words.

“Your Spanish is getting better,” he chuckles, “Soon you’ll be able to tell me off equally well in both languages.”

“Yeah? How do you say ‘shut up and fuck me’ in Spanish?” she growls, tilting her hips and crushing his mouth into hers before he can translate. He lifts her leg around his hip, parting her and kneading her clit with his thumb. It is seconds, not minutes, before she’s on the verge of breaking again. And despite her ragged breathing and the fact that her thoughts are in pieces, she feels the sudden urgent need to remind him how they ended up here. “Marcos, I love you. Te amo. I love you.” His smile is as bright as the lights surrounding them, and he watches her shatter around him, clutching his arm as if it’s the only thing tying her to reality.

And then it’s his turn to lose himself, as her walls tighten around him and she rocks into him purposefully, edging him forward. “Fuck, Lorna, I’m going to come.”

“Then come,” she says, driving into him with as much force as she can manage in the cramped, slippery shower stall. And he does, stuttering into her, gasping and sighing and stilling against her neck. The aurora borealis bursts and then stills, like fireworks, until only a few tendrils of light remain. “I love you,” he murmurs into her shoulder, and then straightens to look into her eyes. “I love you.”

 She kisses him, gently, then nudges him into the spray of the shower. “C’mon. You’ve still got to shower. I’ll figure out dinner.”


End file.
